Trifold
by Aerophin
Summary: LxZ/Post TP — The discontent grew sickeningly in his mouth, and at times blinded him. A higher calling had been fulfilled, yet another goaded him forward and dared him to defy his destiny.


**Trifold**

His return was under exaggerated.

So she believed, at least. The return of a hero, and the lack of a fancy celebration left her a feeling of displeasure. No speeches, no cheers, only a tired and worn boy—or was it man now?—barely clinging to an equally tired mount who looked for the world as if he had just saved an entire kingdom single-handedly.

Which was, in fact, what he had just done.

His clothes reeked of sweat and was covered in blood (_was it his?_ she worried) and the horse was no better, much to her chagrin. How many times had she told him to care for his steed? But there would be no reproaches, for as he wandered through the village gates, he nearly slid from his horse onto the solemn crowd that had gathered.

She uttered a cry as her father moved to catch the falling hero. With a grunt, her father slung the boy she had known from childhood onto his shoulders and carried him through past the crowds, past the meager homes, past her.

With strained eyes she withheld the urge to cry out his name.

His eyes were clouds of blank emotion, the feelings smothered out by the darkness. For a while they stared at her, daring her to speak, to drive out the darkness and save his fleeting humanity. She turned away, unable to bear his pain.

Father finally took him out of her sight, and she could breathe again. With a fist pressed close to her heart, she hated her inability to save her friend. Her face was vivid with shame as she ran from the village, past the waters, and into the fields were they had played together as children. With each easing breath, she looked toward the sky and, with feelings beyond her young understanding, she prayed for his restoration.

The next few days found him strictly at home, as the wives of the village would allow no movement on his part. The tatters he had worn were deemed unsalvageable, and meant to be disposed of (burned, most likely), when suddenly he rose and demanded in a tone of authority that they be kept. This voice of his was new and shocked the village when they first heard it. Whispers ran among the people, for they knew he was no longer the boy he was before he left.

And she, forgotten until this moment, was instructed to wash and mend his worn tunic.

Bending down into the stream, running her hands over the ripped and thin fabric, she couldn't help but shudder. To imagine the numerous wounds he must've endured sent a fresh wave of anxiety over her, and she fought to regain her composure as her fingers found more tears and jagged edges. She plunged the cloth into the running cold of the water and worked out the stains of blood as best she could.

In her home, late at night, she worked on smoothing out the fabric and mending the tears. With a thin needle, she wove love into the tunic as the separated pieces were brought back together until the sun had fully vanished and the candlelight was fading fast. Still, she pressed forward until the repair was complete, the only task she was able to complete for her friend.

When pestered, they said she would be allowed to personally return it to him, to show him the profits of her nighttime labors and for once to let him visualize the caring love she had for him. The promise was thrown aside, however, as the air was once more pierced with his tortured screams that begged for forgiveness and healing that were only silenced by the sleeping potion forced down his throat. His agony seared her heart, and the evening found her crying by the stream, prohibited to see him in such a state.

The repaired tunic was tucked into a small trunk in his home, hastily shut up and forgotten.

The wind blew the days by. Thankfully, he began to recover, not only from the wounds of his journey, but slowly yet surely, the terrors started to fade from his eyes. Soon the smiles, however diminutive they were, reappeared on his face, and her heart soared and beamed. To the village, he returned to the pleasant joys of farm life easily and with a willing heart.

To see him become who he was before caused her great joy, yet despite yearning to speak out her heart to him, she kept silent about her happiness. Behind a wall she seemingly stood, unable to press forward into his fragile soul, unwilling to even do so. For as the weeks passed, she saw and she knew and hated her intuition as the future revealed its foggy presence to her.

Behind the veiled presence of his easygoing attitude, hidden beneath his regular farm boy garb, a feeling of discontent grew sickeningly in his mouth. The simple pleasures of the farm were too unsatisfactory for him. The calm air and easy ways of the village were too little to quench his yearning…a yearning within his stomach that urged him to move, to be, to do! To go beyond what he knew and accomplish more than he was given.

A higher calling had been fulfilled, yet another goaded him forward and dared him to defy his destiny.

She could see it in his distant eyes that were lost in a world she had only caught a passing glance of. She could hear it in the silence that came between them when he was thinking of something—someone—else. She could feel it in his actions that he completed twice as fast as before, taking small delight in those menial tasks that he wanted to be finished with quickly.

She wished it were not true, and even felt so strongly on the celebration of the naming of a newborn child when he laughed merrily and spoke freely and chased the children as he once did. Though she knew not what she feared he would do, the mounting discontent in him had birthed dangerous insecurity within her. A talk with him would heal her qualms, she decided, and planned the next day to speak with him.

The sun had risen an hour before when she roused herself, slipping out the house amid her father's loud snores and past the quiet homes of her fellow villagers. There, standing before his home, she stood a moment, wondering how to approach him. She knew he would be awake; lately he had risen far earlier than he normally did for reasons beyond her. Gulping down a large breath to calm her insides, she started up the ladder. At the top, she knocked softly at the door and stood back, not wanting to seem too eager to pounce upon him with her barrage of disheartening questions.

She waited, and knocked again.

No one answered. Later on, as she revisited the memory, she knew she shouldn't have been surprised. Bursting through the door, she ran through the rooms, looking, searching. Her heart beat through her chest, pumping fear through her veins. Outside, she consoled herself, he's only outside, but the voice of the future told her otherwise.

With shaking hands that belied her calm face, she turned, and, against her innocent will, sauntered slowly toward the trunk in the back of his house. Before she opened it, she closed her eyes, prayed for guidance and strength she knew she would need when the truth spoke to her, and grasped the lid. She pushed it open. Before it was even halfway ajar, the mists in her eyes began to fall. The sight that greeted her was not unfamiliar; in her nightmares it had visited her often, taunting her with its inevitable certainty.

His mended tunic was absent.

Through the open doorway she flew, and barely touched the ladder as she slid down. Her destination was the village gates and the pathway that her comrades had used and would use when leaving her behind. She did not hear the sounds of his horse, but she needed it not to know what had transpired as she slept.

The gates loomed ahead. He was nowhere near. She slowed, desiring to stay within her ignorance and keeping the unlikely possibility alive. The harsh truth rang through her ears and pushed her forward.

Reaching the gates, she stopped and sighed. As predicted, the image in her nightmares had come alive. In the distance, he sat upon his horse, grasping the reins tightly as his steed pranced impatiently beneath him. His saddlebags were full of provisions, she knew. His head was bowed as he spoke into the ear of his horse, and when he rose, she leaped forward into the distance, taking him farther from his home.

What had pushed him into leaving without a notice to anyone? The thought would haunt her for years.

But for now, the throbbing pain within her chest was enough to quiet her questions as she gazed after his distancing figure.


End file.
